


We Are Fire

by gaisang



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 07:36:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8241491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaisang/pseuds/gaisang
Summary: I wrote this at 4am on a whim and still don’t know how I feel about it because I haven’t done lit in a while, but  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ here it is
"He sighs and runs a gentle finger down the neck of his mount. Horsemaster Dennet is watching him, he knows a human in old age is fragile, delicate, they must be soothed and cared for in their last hours."





	

He has gentle hands, it’s something people have told him very often when they see them. Gentle hands grown from years of smoothing the edges of old faded runes, and guiding the Halla. Humans have tried to change this of him, in recent seasons, not understanding how a smooth hand could mean a world of difference in a fight.

He sighs and runs a gentle finger down the neck of his mount. Horsemaster Dennet is watching him, he knows a human in old age is fragile, delicate, they must be soothed and cared for in their last hours.

They assume he is like his hands, they assume he to, is gentle. That care must be taken even when standing in presence with him.

It makes him miss home. The fields, long nights. His wife, perhaps, most of all.

The Dalish in old age are fire. They rage until they can simply burn no more.

Keeper Deshanna was a fire raging, palms worn crisp as she smoothed healing cream into Maris’ hands before he had departed for the conclave.

Perhaps she still burns. Or perhaps, like the Halla Maris is fruitlessly trying to soothe, she is caged and dwindling.

He has gentle hands as they were grown that way. Tended to and hidden as the lightning sparked its lines forever across his fate.

Now there lay green. And a very, very sad Halla.

“Let her roam, Dennet. If I need her, she will know.” The horsemaster eyes Maris critically as he steps away. Dropping his marked hand.

Keeper Deshanna would have an answer, a cream to soothe, to heal.

Maris turns away from the stables after Dennet agrees to let her roam.

She will not live. None of them will. He has gentle hands, but his fire will consume them all.

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr (http://inquisitionsnewdawn.tumblr.com/post/151531789494/we-are-fire)


End file.
